Losing What You Never Had
by Marlex
Summary: Abby is worried about Tim, and tracks to him to a club, where she finds him drunk. She takes him back to her apartment and he begins telling her things he never would sober. Shocking revelations and hard truths are in store.


**Author's Note:** It's been a little while since I last wrote an NCIS fic, but here's another Abby/McGee one, although it's a bit more somber than the others. Like my previous NCIS fics, it was originally written for the CommentFic community on LiveJournal. The prompt this time was: "Can't lose what you never had." I meant this to a bookend to my other story, "Nothing Good Happens After 2 A.M." although the two are not connected. In that story, Abby got drunk and said some interesting things. In this one, the opposite happens. Because of the dynamic of their relationship, the resulting conversation here is a bit darker, but please don't take this as Abby bashing. McAbby is still on OTP.

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Abby knew something was off with Tim at work. Truthfully, she'd sensed it for days now. But there was something in particular the way he'd acted as they were leaving NCIS earlier today that put her on edge.

So she does what he did that time when she was acting strange. She tracks his phone. Sure, she bit his head off after she found out what he'd done, but she decides tonight is a time for action and not for worrying about double-standards.

The trace leads her to a club not too far from her apartment. She's familiar with it. They actually went there a few times when they dated. They haven't been back since.

The music inside thrums, the bass heavy enough that she can feel it from head to toe. It's fast paced, harsh, intrusive, just what one needs to keep unwanted thoughts at bay.

She finds him at the bar. And he is drunk, more so than she has ever seen him before. Truthfully, Abby had rarely seen Tim drunk. There were times they'd hang out at his apartment or hers and watch a movie, sharing a beer or two. And then there were the nights they'd go out to a club or concert and need a cab ride home. But even when they dated, she never saw him really lose control. Tonight is different.

Tim doesn't seem to notice her at first, even after she sits down next to him. Soon, however, she sees his eyes attempting to focus on her.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, the slur evident over the music.

"Making sure you're okay."

"Well, I'm fine," he replies with a harshness she isn't used to hearing from him.

"Sure you are," she says, not really caring if her sarcasm gets through.

She motions to the bartender and closes his tab.

"Come on," she says, standing up.

Abby expects a fight, but he only downs the last of his drink and gets to his feet, albeit shakily. She holds his arm and helps him outside, where she leads him to her car, more or less pouring him into the passenger seat.

She thinks about taking him to his apartment, but it is already late and she knows if he passes out, there will be no way she'd getting him up to the fourth floor, even with the elevator.

Her building is much closer, so she drives home, and with a bit more maneuvering, she has him sitting on her couch.

There they stay in silence for awhile and she feel his eyes watching her, the same eyes which can seemingly peer into and dig up all her secrets. She knows he thinks her a mystery, but he is much more perceptive that he gives himself credit for.

It is five, maybe ten minutes before he finally breaks the quiet.

"She left me," he says. "Called three days ago. Distance was too much. Just not going to work out. Just decided it was time. I had to see it too. Had to see it coming." His voice rises with each stunted sentence until finally it breaks, and Abby can't tell if it is from anger or sadness, and figures it's both. Then, in almost a whisper, he adds, "I didn't see it coming."

Abby just sits there, trying in vain to find something to say. Last she heard, Tim and Delilah were doing fine. As Tim said, no sign of what was coming.

"She's now part of the club," he adds suddenly, this time bitterness seeping into the words. "The ex-girlfriends of McGee club. Full of psychos and assassins and identity thieves."

Abby isn't entirely sure if she should be offended since she's technically on that list too, but McGee continues, distracting her.

"You know Abby, she was different," he says, for the first time seemingly talking to her and not just to himself. "I really did love her. The others, sure I liked them. But I really hadn't allowed myself to fall in love. Not for a long time."

He looks into her eyes and she desperately wants to look away, but she doesn't. And then he says the words she's dreading, "Not since you."

There is such pain on his face, etched deep enough the alcohol can't smooth it away. They never talk about the breakup. Once the initial awkwardness wore away, they both just moved on. Or at least she thought he did.

"It took me a long time to get over us," he says, and she wishes he would stop talking. "But the hardest part, the part that took me years to accept? I never lost you. Because I never had you. They all warned me. Abby doesn't do commitment. Abby doesn't do love." He's nearly shouting again. "Sure you love. You love everybody. Like puppies. But you don't do what I was ready to do. What I wanted to do."

And his tirade seems to seep what little energy he has left, and suddenly, he looks as if he really will pass out. Then, just before his eyes close, he says quietly, "You can't lose what you never had. Well it still hurts like hell."

And then he's out. Leaving her shocked and upset and with no way to respond. Even though he's unconscious, Abby wants to argue. Wants to plead her case. But he's right. She wasn't looking for what he wanted back then. She's not even sure if she wants it now.

But his words send shockwaves through her being like an earthquake, causing upheavals in the foundations of what she believed her world to be. Assumptions are shattered. Beliefs laid low. Truths exposed.

And out of the rubble, a new landscape appears. And looking at his sleeping form, Abby is seeing him differently, now wondering what might have been. And what may be. And what could be? But she also realizes that while he didn't lose her, she may have lost him. And that thought hurts more than she thought possible.


End file.
